


Renegade

by Lady_GothiKa



Series: Sweet & Sour - Victor Zsasz [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Humor, Inappropriate Humor, Unhealthy Relationships, Unplanned Pregnancy, Victor Zsasz is a sass-assassin, no y/n
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2019-10-10 21:45:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17434067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_GothiKa/pseuds/Lady_GothiKa
Summary: How does one tell their hyperactive mass murdering spooky boyfriend that his new beau is knocked up?And he thought the only protection he needed was those two pistols. . .Well, on the bright side, you have 4 months to figure something out.Hopefully.





	1. We need to talk about Victor

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! this is were inappropriate humour comes to die.
> 
> This is a continuation to my other Victor Zsasz story [Facade] But fret not if you haven't read it, it'll *probably* be fine to read without it.  
> Though it will most likely be better to read as sequel. just saying. 
> 
> Also a strong disclaimer: I am terrible writer ✔✔✔

* * *

 

 

**Just breathe.**

 

Quit pacing. You’re making it worse. Relax. Exhale. Look straight ahead.

God, you could have sworn you didn’t have those deep bags under your eyes last time you looked in the mirror. When was the last time you got over four hours sleep? The answer was too easy, you had been counting silently in your own head for the last week.

You couldn’t keep this up any longer, it was just prolonging the inevitable. He would find out eventually. It was just a means of when; three months, four months? He would definitely notice before then. He sees everything from the slightest of differences, it’s his profession, the way he lives his life. He’s the wolf, a hunter, a tracker. He stalks his prey absorbing every detail just waiting to strike at the most opportune moment. Thus what makes you assume you could suppress something this significant?

Nothing but mere wishful thinking.

From this moment on, you’ll just have to find the strength and tell him the truth. It’s not like he’s a _‘complete’_ psychopath. Just tell him. You’ve told him bad news before. It’s not the first time. Remember when you informed him you were Carmine Falcone’s newfound daughter? _He accepted that well._

Oh wait, you weren’t the one the one that told him. No, you were laying back on your sofa with Victor’s hands fooling around with your undergarments when your phone rang. His boss. Your father. That’s when he had ordered him to leave his little girl be, and he essentially did… _almost._

Victor just couldn’t say no, he was never that man that took the words ‘don’t touch’ lightly. The very idea made it a game, one in which was almost irresistible to stand by and solely be a spectator. Therefore, he apologized for leaving you with your pants practically down, in his own fashion mind you, Victor would never literally say ‘sorry’ in a truly authentic way.

And still, you fail to understand why precisely Mister Victor Zsasz, a thirty-something-year-old man who dresses like drummer from burned out eighties goth-rock band. Who easily makes four-figure numbers a month and more often than not orders from the kid’s menu; wonder why he feels an inner desire for you, little alone have the want to pursue you.

  
For one thing, It wasn’t for your great sense of humor or your magnificent collection of brilliantly colored fuzzy cushions. Perhaps it was that ass of yours he thought obliged to grab on any occasion he had, or maybe it was your exquisite baking expertise. Nobody could dish out a tray of freshly baked cookies like you; The word on the street was right all along, he did like to eat out a lot.

 

 

**Ding dong**

 

 

  
Your front door had pulled you back into reality, that god awful world that craved nothing more than to chew you up and spit you back out. It wasn’t your father at least, he constantly calls before coming around, which is great because you don’t exactly want your dear old father coming around when you’re down on your knees calling another man daddy.

So who was at the door then? Zsasz? No, he doesn’t knock, like ever. He’s quite happy just coming in and making himself at home. Locked door? No problem, he’ll break the latch or use the window like a stray cat, you know what they say; don’t feed them or they’ll keep coming around. Maybe it was your fault then, you shouldn’t have baked him a cheesecake and gave him a blow job, _oopsies._

But like most occasions, you were wrong. “Who’s there?” It was Victor, speak of the devil.

“Open the damn door princess, I ain't in the fucking mood for games.” Oh Victor, everything in life was one giant multiple choice game. Though you’re going to make the wrong decision yet again, because why? You are terrible, gullible, naive and hopelessly in love with a serial killer, and this might be the most exhilarating thing to ever happen in your drab life.

_Yes, you are fully aware of how depressing that sounds._

Thus picture for a second, indulge yourself for one single moment what it would be like to announce to the one of most dangerous man in Gotham that his new *hush, hush, wink, wink* girlfriend, whom is the youngest beloved daughter of his long term boss, (Another one of the most dangerous people you’ve ever met) is now baring his one and only grandchild.

Can you imagine how he would react?

It’s the same exact reason why you haven’t told him yet because unfortunately, you have no idea what he would do, but you know exactly what he would say.

It would be something around the likes of; _“Please, get rid of it before someone names it.”_

He’s charming like that.

_But anyways._

“Oh my god, - Victor. What the hell?” His face, believe it or not once looked like it had been carved from marble, now? It looked nothing more than beaten up, abused volleyball. A giant purple, crimson shade forever growing against his jowls to jawline and just below his left eye. “What happen?”

“James.” He pushed his way past you, kicking off his shoes and collapsing into your couch, although he’ll still make sure to furiously through every single pillow onto the floor beforehand. “He doesn’t appreciate my punctuality, and here I could have sworn we had something special.” Victor pouts his lips into a frown sarcastically. He’s still outrageously optimistic for a guy who just got punched in the face.

And you just wanted to be happy that he’s okay, truly, though that’s not always the case, not always. You want to be the kind of girl that comes to him, straddles herself over his lap, kisses him, showers him in worry and fear: “You have to be more careful.” But alas, you’re not that kind of girl.

So you will proceed into the kitchen, pass him a frozen pack of peas (you’re not totally horrible) You’ll tell him to stop dicking around, and shoot the target before he gets any ideas to start monologuing.

“But what’s the fun in that?” He snatches the peas and places them to his chin, “What happened to being fun, are you gonna tell me why you’re all grouchy, Oscar?”

Where you? Shit.

“I haven’t been sleeping, plus work has been terrible.” You sighed with half a yawn seconds away. “Oswald keeps giving me the worst hours. He knows I hate working past two.”

No, don’t get any wild ideas, you aren’t a thug, not even an assistant, you’re a mixologist. Glamorous, you’re aware. Still, it beats working at Starbucks, anyway, meeting Victor there would have been so much worse, he was already a dick when you met him, requesting milkshakes at a nightclub. Imagine how wretched it could have been at a cafe.

 _‘Yes, I’ll make you a venti vanilla latte, nonfat milk, whipped cream’_ There was no shortage to Victor Zsasz’s childlike desire.

“You’ve never had an issue with the hours before.” The assassin countered, peering up at you. He was correct. It was just a matter of time before he catches on. Still telling him right now, no, it wasn’t the ideal moment, he’ll freak out, and you nevertheless need to reflect this over; it was a bigger deal for you anyhow.

You needed to figure out how you’d tell him, plan it out with what time you had, it was only early. And to be frank, it wasn’t the obvious that had you petrified to inform him. Would he simply ask to end it? You weren’t sure, though it was more than that, what had you scared most was the fact; you weren’t ready.

You were the biggest complication here. Along with money, lack of space, general wisdom. This was a big step, one in which you weren’t ready to make.

Victor held out a hand, “Come here sleepy head.” He pulls you in, wrapping his arms around you like straitjacket holding you close. You fall asleep almost instantly and you’ll remain that way for the next hour.

 

 

 

 

  
Now in a rush, you’re late for work. You need a quick shower and to get ready.

“Need some help washing your hair, bunny?” Victor sweet talks you from across the room, his coy smile is the last thing you need right now. That and for him to make you even later than you already are.

You decline, swaying your head towards the bald man donned in all black.

“No, I am already running late, someone around here has to pay the bills.” Also last time, Victor got so rough that your shitty shower head came down and hit you in the face and busting the pipe, resulting in giving you one black eye and a flooded apartment. Oswald thought someone had tried to mug you on your way to work; you went along with it because it was less embarrassing than the truth.

Turning the water on just right, you get in and let the warm spray soak away all your problems. For at least five minutes you could have sworn everything was going to be okay, everything will work out, it has too. Then the door opens.

There was hitman ruffling around in your medicine cabinet.

You pull back the shower curtain, staring at him. “What the fuck are you doing?”

He answers without turning his head, one hand still turning everything over, “That crap you put on your face, to cover up other crap; where do you stash it?”

Victor’s raiding your makeup now? Of course, he is. “You mean concealer?”

“Whatever.” He finally looks at you, shaking his head with a cocky expression stricken over his face, “Where is it?”

“In the top bag, the one with the unicorns on it.”

He spots it quickly, unzipping the bag, furrowing both of his hairless brows. Victor tries his best not to look confused while taking each item, glancing at it before placing it down upon the sink.

Mascara? No.  
A smokey eyeshadow palette? No….  
Blush? Nope.

He turns over a bottle of foundation, looks at it hard then notices it isn’t what he’s searching for.

“What’s this?” Zsasz had something else now locked firmly in his hands, “Why is it sparkly?”

“Because it’s highlighter.” You respond, watching him open it slowly. Was he smelling it?

“And...what do you do with it?”

“You put it on your cheekbones.” Well, at least you make some sort of attempt. Your sister Sofia was the graceful one.

That doesn’t stop Victor though, he feels compelled to be an asshole whenever the opportunity arises. So he’ll inch in closer, make a face in the mirror and actually try it, why? Because he can.

He steps back, turns his head to the side, raises one brow higher than the other. “Pretty.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

 

 

 

 

  
You’re fifteen minutes late for work all thanks to Victor Zsasz.

On the bright side, you’re on good terms with your boss, he won’t bite your head off he’ll just give you a sour look then shake his head, raise his hands and ask if everything is okay ‘dear.’ And you’ll do the right thing, you’ll nod your head and lie straight to his face because it’s what’s best.

Or so you thought.

No actually, the Iceberg was quite tonight. Normally at eight-thirty, the club would be swarming with people, music, and alcohol, tonight though? There was barely five people and a little boy sitting at booth with a stack of colored pencils to his right, why was there a little boy here?

Taking a step closer you stop, hearing Oswald from over the bar. “Oh, you’re finally here!” Oswald beams happily, walking cane in hand to steady his famous limp; he appears to be in a forgiving kind of mood. “I don’t think you’ve had the pleasure of meeting my son before.”

 _Shut the front door._ Son? Okay, this is news to you, this kid looked as if he was maybe ten? He didn’t just pop out of nowhere! Shit didn’t just fall out of the sky, this wasn’t 13th-century France. How long have you been living under a rock?

“Son?”

“Adopted.” He paused and smiled wickedly. “—of course!”

_Of course._

“Wow, I had no idea —” that you’re both parents, no… no, you’re not a parent, shut your trap. “—Congratulations, that’s amazing!”

“It is! -” Oswald rejoiced, at least he seemed happy and completely at ease with parenthood. “Martian, this lovely lady here is one of my most loyal workers.”

Loyal, it almost made you choke, the same way his favorite hitman makes you gag on his— Okay, too far. The point is, Oswald doesn’t know about you and Victor, in fact, he doesn’t even know you’re a Falcone. You didn’t necessarily lie about your last name, not really… it got changed after you got the job, and telling him you changed it never came up… _Fine, you lied._

In the meantime, keep up your flattery, It’ll get you far in life. “That’s funny because you Mr. Cobblepot are my favorite boss.”

He grins back at you, a part of him knows you are probably lying, he’s not stupid, though another part of him which stronger than the last is lonely and craves friendship, so he overlooks imperfections and the cracks in your personality. The truth is he’s still hung up on Edward, you can tell. Only from what you knew (Eddie dear) doesn’t care in the sparsest. Last time you meet him was a week ago at your favorite bookstore. You were there trying to find a gift for your secret emo lover, because what could be more depressing than Victor Zsasz? Edgar Allan Poe was a solid start.

However, whilst browsing you managed to stumble upon Edward Nygma with the most curious of books in his hand, it was something along the lines of ‘ABC’s’ for dummies; if you memorized correctly. Was that for Grundy? Ed got antagonistic when you asked, then he accused you of stalking him. Oh Edward, always with the paranoia.

But you can’t blame him, he is Gemini as fuck after all. _Poor guy._

“Can I get you anything tonight boss or the little sir here?” It was rather late at night. “Maybe a nice glass of milk?” Kids like milk, right?

Martian looked up at Oswald with these large fluttery eyes, how could you ever say no to that face?

“Yes of course, why not.” Your boss buckles, you would too. “The usual for me, as well dear.”

Staring is bad, but you can’t help but watch them from a distance while filling your orders. That bond, Oswald seems truly happy, so is that child. You want that for your kid, to live in a stable well-adjusted home, not be subjected to whatever you have with Victor, he’s good at what he his, though a kid needs love, not a best friend and Victor is just not capable of that, and you’re not ready.

_Hold up._

Martian’s adopted.

_Huh._

 

 

 

_Well hello there daddy, room for one more?_

 

 

 

_`_


	2. What’s in the box?

 

“What the fuck do you mean, you can’t?” Wendell shot Victor an expression from across the car. They both sat there waiting outside a risqué club in the early hours of the morning, Oswald had put yet another hit out on Edward’s head.

 

Victor shrugged, uncertain how to put it. His eyes drifted back outside the window past the blinking neon lights, trying to keep an eye out for his target that was due any minute. “I dunno, just doesn’t feel right. It’s kinda like pineapple on pizza; I’ll eat if I am _starving,_ but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t want to gag out my insides afterwards.”

 

“Oh, fuck you man,” Wendell rebutted, “Don’t bring pineapple into your own self destructive nature. There’s only one man who can help your sorry sinful ass.”

 

The hairless assassin lifted a brow towards his associate, _“Jesus?”_

 

“Ha, you wish!” Wendell laughed, “No man, I meant Dr. Phil. Do you really think Jesus would appear in your hour of need, you know when Carmine finds out you’ve been banging his little girl? Even our lord savior knows when all hope is lost. You know what they say, once you fucking ring that bell, you can’t un-ring it…”

 

“Look, the only freaking doctor I need, is the one I am waiting for. And If I may say, stop acting like I stole Don’s daughter's virtue, cause I sure as hell didn’t.” Zsasz huffed sipping on his now lukewarm mochachino, “She might look like a doe eyed angel, Wendell, but I am starting to believe she’s more insane than I am, which in truth is _just_ a little too concerning… Like the other week, I was taking a bath and suddenly she comes in with a fucking toaster of all things.”

 

“You gotta be shitting me,” Wendell cocked his head, “What the hell did you do to stir up that kind of wrath?”

 

“I didn’t do shit!” Victor pointed out, “She wanted to go to a carnival out of town, and -”

 

“A carnival?” Wendell interrupted, raising a brow.

 

“Fine, I was the one that wanted to go, happy are we?” Zsasz sighed, “Anyway, she wanted to go on one of those big inflatable ‘bouncy’ castles, but I told her she was too big - and well, she got real pissy at me…. Turns out she may have gotten the impression I was calling her fat. She’s a little sensitive lately, fuck knows why.”  

 

“Like I said man, you need Dr. Phil.”

 

“Shut up.” The bald man added promptly, “3 o’clock.”

 

His mark was just on time.

 

~

 

“Wakey, wakey eggs and bakey.” Victor murmured, the good doctor lady was starting to come to. She had put up a pretty fair fight, It had taken them almost a good solid thirty-five minutes of cat and mouse. He expected her to be armed, yet he didn’t expect her to know how to handle it - little alone to be a crack shot.

 

“Zsasz…” Leslie grumbled squinting her eyes, only now feeling the sudden burn at the back of her head.

 

“I bet you’re regretting those heeled boots now, aren’t you doc? A tip for the future, wear platforms they’re heavier but easier to run in.” Victor added, not to mention she sounded like a lame horse the way her heels clickly clacked throughout the alleyway, it wasn’t exactly subtle.

 

Leslie now flattered her eyes becoming more subconscious about her surroundings, both wrists bound along with her legs tightly secured to a wooden chair. She was looking around, trying to scheme her way out, only Victor had dragged her into a now vacant apartment situated in the heart of the narrows; her options for escape were bleak.  

 

“You’re insane Victor,” She muttered finally, “What do you want with me?”

 

_Rude…_  “The boss wants Nygma,  you’re the bait.”

 

“You have to be kidding me; this is about Oswald?”

 

“Bingo!,” Zsasz sighed with a half smile, taking a seat on the moth-eaten sofa with his legs up on the armrests. “It must be rather shitty to always be a third wheel.”

 

“I am not a third wheel, Victor.”

 

“You keep telling yourself that doc.” The assassin chuckled under his breath, taking out his phone. “Hey, would you mind crying a little? I have to take a picture of you and send it to Edward.”

 

“No! That’s moronic.” The doctor argued back.

 

“Spoil sport….”

 

* * *

 

_*readers point of view*_

 

It was only now just past 4 o’clock in the morning. You yawned softly as your sleeve rolled back over your wrist, this little gang get together Oswald was having out the back seemed like it would last all night. It was no surprise the club was so empty when you arrived earlier today, some shady meeting was being taken out back and you were left out the front occasionally filling orders.

 

Maybe you could just rest your eyes for a second, just a…

 

Before your eyes could even blink the front doors came crashing open, and at the same time almost giving you a minor heart attack.

 

There was a stampede of feet, following an odd echo of squeaky wheels spinning over uneven ground.

 

Well, well, look who it was: _Panic!_ at _the disco and The Sisters of Mercy_ … or well, Zsasz and his entourage of matching _‘latex’_ ladies.

 

And no, you weren’t exactly delighted with the impression of your new boy-toy skipping around the streets of Gotham late at night with a whole bunch of strange women, but not to worry, you’re not the jealous type... Oh no, definitely not…. At all… because that would be… _riddikulus._

 

It didn’t take long for Oswald to come storming out; he was a hop, skip and jump away from literally looking like he wanted to kebab Victor with that blade stashed inside his cane, which in all fairness was the only type of penetration Zsasz didn’t wholeheartedly enjoy.  

 

“Morning, boss!” Victor peeped his head up, raising one hand and at the same time giving yourself a sideways glance and a suggestive wink from across the room.

 

“Zsasz, what’s the meaning of this intrusion! I gave you a job. If you can’t complete a simple set task…”

 

Victor quickly placed a finger to his lips, forcing Oswald to turn pink as he gulped down his own comments.

 

That bald man clapped his hands, ordering his girls around like well-trained poodles. “Bring it in. C'mon, don’t tarry.”

 

And like that, the source of the sound from earlier was now coming to the light. There was indeed wheels, four of them connected to a pull along cart which bore a vast timber crate… it almost looked as if it could possibly hold a large animal…

 

Where was he going with this?  

 

“Zsasz… what’s that god awful stench?” You watched on, as Oswald pulled out his plum satin handkerchief, placing it over his mouth and nose, now talking with a muffled grunt.

 

“Depends, do you want the long or the short story?” The hairless man cheeked.

 

“Just give it to me straight!”

 

“The box may or may not have once belonged to an angry alpaca, that a buddy of mine got for a bachelor party.”

 

“What?!”

 

“You know what...nevermind…” Zsasz turned on his heels, “You should just open it now… I am not completely sure those air holes, plus the duct tape is sufficient for breathing. It would be such a shame if he died, oh deary dear… on the bright side boss, we’re already dressed in black.”

 

“You mean to tell me, Edward is in… _that..._ crate?!”

 

“You know it boss… Should I get a shovel?” Victor smiled and Oswald pushed him out of the way, quickly grabbing a crowbar one Zsasz’s ladies was holding out.

 

“NO! All of you, get out! Everyone!” Your boss called out, screaming, particularly at Victor.

 

His eyes wandered back to yourself eventually, “I no longer require your services dear.” Oswald goes to turn, but something stops him, “Oh… and on second thought, take tomorrow off as well.”

 

“Sure thing boss!” You replied with a drowsy smile; like you were going to argue about a free day off.

 

It seemed as you’re plans were going to have to be delayed… for now…  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

`

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait, funny story. I actually wrote a whole bunch of chapters before I posted the first... But, I didn't think they were good enough so they all got trashed and I decided to start over again. . . ó_ò
> 
> And somewhere along the line I may have lost all my creativity... Though I will find it again, even if I have to dress up as a Zsaszette, put a poster of Zsasz on my wall, light up some black candles, and play 'knock on wood' on repeat till it comes back.


	3. Stabby and the Bandit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Victor Zsasz puts the 'sass' and 'ass' in assassin. Bliss.

 

 

 

“Jim, do you really think this is wise? Shouldn’t we be heading straight to Penguin, we have the leverage! All we need to do is squeeze the answers out of him!”

“Harvey.” James took the last stair, his partner now closes by his side as they both move down a narrowing corridor. “If we can get around this without starting a gang war…”

Harvey buckled, tilting his head with a low groan, “Ah, fine. I see your point. But why this girl? I know she works for Penguin, but surely -”

 

“You out of anyone should know how much information you can get out of someone who works at the front of a bar. She has to know something, or at least give us a good lead to someone who does. Zsasz needs to be stopped, kidnapping Lee was going too far.”

“I hear you, pal. We’ll get that son of a bitch.” Harvey agreed, he could hear something booming in the distance. “Do you hear that?”

 

Jim tilted his ear to the sound “Music?”

 

“It sounds like…”

James eyes his partner with a look of concern, _“Alice Cooper.”_

 

_♫ Your mouth, so hot_

_Your web, I’m caught_

_Your skin, so wet_

_Black lace, on sweat ♫_

 

“This is the G..C..P..D!”

 

The two men covered behind the door, guns ready, “Jim, did you hear that?!”

He did, there was almost a faint muffled scream, “The bastard got to her, we have to save the girl!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Oh my god, Victor - stop, stop… please… I won’t.” The assassin covered your mouth with his hand, giving a cold yet menacing stare.

 

“Just twenty more minutes guys!” Victor called back over the dying music.

 

Yet his call was put to no use as your front door came flying open, now swinging half off its hinges with a spray of splinters.

 

“FREEZE.” You heard a voice call, “Put your hands up!”

 

Victor raised his palms lazily as you quickly grabbed a large fuzzy cushion… you weren’t strictly wearing… _well, anything._

 

 _“Jesus Christ.”_ A scruffy bearded man yelled.

 

_Was that Harvey Bullock and James Gordon?!_

 

“Hey, Jim… Harvey, good seeing you… mind giving me some eye contact here?” Victor stood there at the end of your sofa, completely nude, naked, bare-assed, wearing nothing but his pompous grin along with his hands held firmly in the air.

 

The two men avoid Zsasz trying to shield their eyes, now looking around the house, “Where’s the girl? We heard a girl!” Harvey growled.

 

“I am here.” You peep over the sofa, raising a single hand.

 

“Are you okay, miss?”

 

You gave a swift nod, “I’ve been better.”

 

“Hey Jim...” Victor nags back.

 

“For God’s sake, Zsasz, lower your hands!”

 

The bald man finally relaxes, “Thanks guys, I was starting to feel a little violated there.”

 

“Shut up!” James yells than looks to you, “Please tell me you know who you are in bed with?!”

 

_Did you ever…_

 

Still, before you could answer, Victor just had to put his own 2 cents worth in. “I swear this isn’t what it looks like… she told me she was legal.”

 

“For heaven’s sake… Did I ask for your opinion?!” James sighs pinching his brow, “You were saying?”

 

You didn’t exactly want to lie to the police, but then again saying you knew about Victor’s closet skeletons, might be a little worse, so playing dumb might be your best bet here… or at least you could try.

 

“Well, of course, I know who he is!” You give off a nervous laugh, “He’s my daddy’s gardener, he said he’d come over and teach me yoga.”

 

“Gardener… Yoga?” Harvey let out a _‘Like we are going to believe that’_ laugh,’ - “Let me guess, he was teaching you the downward dog, huh?”

 

Victor shrugs his shoulders, “Hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, boys.” 

 

James shoots your naked, hairless assassin a sour look, enough for him to snap quiet. “He’s a serial killer!”

 

_Now, you have to act astonished, open your mouth a little and make a tiny, yet shrewd gasp sound._

“What?! No, no, no! He would never… you don’t seem to understand, he’d never kill anything! He is a _vegan,_ and he’s not even preachy about it!”

 

“What she said..." 

 

“Zsasz you better start filling in the blanks before we have to take you both in, do you want your lady friend here locked up as an accomplice?!”

 

Victor just laughed at Harvey’s empty threats. “An accomplice? Do you even know who her father is? Though be my guest, take her in… _I dare you.”_

 

What? That was not cool, no, sir. “You asshole, trying to sell me out!”

 

“All in a day’s work bunny.” He blows you a kiss, “Mind if you toss me those pants over there… is it just me or is it getting a little nippy in here?”

 

“Wait.” James raises his hand, “Who’s her father?”

 

Harvey added in shortly after, “Yeah, _who_ is it?”

 

“Trust me, It’s a real shocker - if it wasn’t for my outstanding cardio workout, I probably would have had a cardiac arrest.” Victor said, “Now, the pants please?”

 

James gave a curt nod, “Give the man his pants, if we have to shoot him, we’ll at least let him die with a shred of honor.”

 

“Wow, Jim… that makes me feel all tingly on the inside.”

 

 _Why doesn’t he talk to you like this?_ You sobbed silently, watching Harvey wander through your shoebox of an apartment, it doesn’t take long for him to locate Victor’s missing immaculately folded clothes, “Are these it?”

 

“If they’re black they are mine, Harvey.” Victor rolled his eyes awaiting the older man holding his slacks.

 

“Oh, and what do we have here?” Harvey chuckles towards Zsasz, his eyes coyly looking back towards James. Was that what you thought it was? Yup, that was his wallet he had fished out of the assassin’s trousers.

 

The scruffy detective opens it, pushing his glasses up his nose to get a better look. “Well looky here, Jim… his driver’s license has expired by ten years!”

 

“Well, shit.” Zsasz cocked his head in return, “I guess I’ll just have to start taking the bus… that’s unfortunate...”

 

“I am guessing these are also yours?” Harvey held up a pair of car keys, attached to them was a key chain of a bazooka and a tiny crystal skull.

 

_“Obviously.”_

 

“And I am just now betting they belong to the classic black Mustang parked out the front….”  

 

Zsasz tilted his head back, a distasteful expression on his face was slowly becoming more clear. “I don’t like where this is heading…”

 

He throws the keys in the air, James catches them with a wide grin. These two cops were just enjoying this a little too much.

 

“What else do we have? A stick of Hubba Bubba… _strawberry flavored,_ an empty Mars bar wrapper… a single .44 bullet… And what’s this.. a box cutter?” Harvey raised a brow then slammed it against your kitchen table, “Oh look and one regular sized condom, fancy that.”

 

“Wow, someone is getting bitter with old age.” Victor cringed.

 

“Ha… ha... Ha…” The cop snorted sarcastically. “I bet you were planning on using the old rubber back there weren’t you, huh?”

 

Victor looks down at his nudity, then back to you, shrugging his shoulders with a single heave of air, finally thinning his lips, “I dunno what gave you that impression…” For a moment he closes his eyes, then opens one followed slowly by the next, “Okay, you got me… but it was for a good reason, I promise… I just got to 69 tallies, it was actually her idea.”

 

James cringes from the distance. “That’s…just to much information.”

 

“Oh, _Jim.._ I know her personality is a little hard to swallow at times, but she does… and that’s all that really matters.”

 

“Okay, that’s way too much information… Harvey, please - just give his pants back… I need to be sick.”

 

“Alright....” He pauses, “After you tell us who her father is.”

 

Why was he so persistent? Why did it matter? Oh god, why was this happening?

 

“Okie dokie, I’ll play.“ Victor says, “I’ll give you a hint, you know him; you both do.”

 

“Penguin… _maybe..._ she looks young enough?”

 

“Gross.” Zsasz turned up his face, “No, definitely not.”  

 

“Please don’t tell me it’s Cicero…”

 

“Who?”

 

“Nevermind.  Galavan?”

 

“Ooh, nice guess… Getting warmer.”

 

“Victor Fries?”

 

“I said warmer… _not colder.”_

“Maroni?”

 

“Nope, thank fuck for that.. but so close.”

 

“Falcone!”

 

 _“Ding, ding, ding!”_ Victor smiled, making his stupid sounds as you buried your face into your pillow. Why was this happening?

 

They finally passed his pants over and Harvey was giving the usual look someone gives you after finding out the truth, that half typical ‘what the actual fuck,’ moment and a half, ‘I should probably shouldn’t have said that before.’

 

“So you’re Sofia Falcone’s little sis, huh, sweetheart? The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. You should watch yourself around - _‘your daddy’s gardener.”_ The man chuckles under his breath as he pats the back of the sofa, now heading for your broken front door.

 

“Oh and Zsasz, we’re taking the car… have fun kids.” Harvey finished with a sly snicker, only leaving Victor standing there disgruntled look waving a hand that turned into his middle finger as soon as the detective turned his back.

 

Your front door closed to the now extent it could. Victor glanced at you, his hands going back to his pants, making sure everything was placed back into his pockets, his bare feet slapping against the cold floorboards.

 

Yet his face changed like something wasn’t right. “Harvey stole my condom.”

 

“Really?” You rolled your eyes - where was your bra? “Well, it sucks to be you,” you replied with a bitter remark.

 

“No, actually…” The assassin has a sinful, wicked grin cross his face, “It sucks to be...you.”

 

Well, so much for relaxing on your day off.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

`

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! - The Alice Cooper song playing is called *Poison* If one song could describe 'Facade,' it would be that. XD


	4. An Unfamiliar Friendship

 

 

 

Lying to Victor was something you never enjoyed doing.

Something about it always seemed shameful even through the innocence of jests. But something about this even seemed more shameless, pathetic even. Nevertheless, it was that alternative piece of your being that kept him in the dark. It was the same portion of you that almost seemed to constantly want to protect him, even if you couldn’t use a weapon or simply your own fists; you used your perspective or directly an offbeat stare whenever such a person could consider that you two were indeed involved, and of course by that you mean solely your father. It wasn’t as if you had not sought to reason with him, yet ultimately the result was always the same. Perhaps there was a part of your father that has witnessed far too much. That an image of the same man you have come to adore is the corresponding to the equal your father has sent to be drenched in the blood of men, women, and possibly children is alike the memory he sees when he considers you to embrace him with open arms. That the same blood that covers his hands will rub off on you and taint that fresh, pure, soul your father seems to wholeheartedly believe still endures.

Or more simply put, he has seen the worst of Victor Zsasz. It was true that you knew only little of his background, he doesn’t talk about it. It’s like this disgusting vulgar thing he refuses to even admit that ever existed. He wants to hide it, pretend it never happened, sweep it under the rug and set the house alight till nothing but ashes remain.

Yet that doesn’t completely destroy the evidence, not when people lived to tell the tale. Wendell for instance knew, he also was aware of the affair that you two share; to what extent he knows is another thing. Victor is an awfully private person, although Wendell is as equally as sharp when comes to gathering information and putting the shards together, piece by piece.

It only took one-third of a bottle of whiskey for the words to begin to flow like a flood gate ready to burst, Wendell after all was a very chatty, happy go lucky drunk, especially for a man who more commonly than not, referred to being just as cold as your hairless assassin.

A tale was spun like a spider's web, a rich boy who loathed his parents, the usual. A tale of a boy who rather than rebelled and diminished his family's name, he let it brew. A tale of a boy who when lost everything, realized he never had anything to begin with, that everything he had was pointless and had no meaning, that the realization of that sent him overboard and into a state where years of opposition, disdain, and disgust had come bursting out all at once and bequeathed nothing to be desired, only a trail of fresh corpses left in life like poses.

It was hard to believe that was the man who slept next to you at night, that he was capable of such actions. Yes, you were not oblivious to the marks or scars, the ones he created himself and the others which formed a twisted tale of stab wounds and bullet holes that were not of his own accomplishments, choice or desires, but of others who were now most likely six feet under and the only thing left of them are marks he wears, his own way of remembering each and every one.

It was this that formed your own conclusion, your father was never going to see Victor more than what he was at his worst; a man who had lost everything and wandered far too close to the ledge, quite literally. That he would never be anything more than a screw loose, a dog to be commanded and traded around from hand to hand, in hopes he doesn’t completely lose it again and go back to that state of mind that started everything.

It was this part of your being that held back the truth, the reason you lied to him and didn’t tell him where you were going, that part of you that was not only trying to protect him but more importantly yourself. Even after everything, you would never believe for a single second harm would come to you. The thought itself was inconceivable, little alone have the desire to harm your unborn child against your will.

It was most likely he would regard it as nothing, perhaps shrug it off or easily bequeathed the child altogether, maybe even you. It was indeed entirely conceivable a man of thirty-five, that perhaps this was not even his own first, whether or not he knew. It’s not strictly uncommon for a woman to conceal her pregnancy, or simply leave. Yet from the little you knew, Victor certainly had no desire to procreate.

And so you sat alone with nothing but your thoughts, twiddling your thumbs and hoping Oswald would keep Victor distracted long enough for him not to get curious and start asking questions, it was the last thing you needed right now, someone prying into the one thing you wanted to remain hidden from the world, for now… just for now… for whatever time it lasts, this could simply be your own burden to bare and those stares of judgment can remain held back.

It’s what left you here, walking away from the foul smell of antiseptic, a twisted feeling in your stomach and a white envelope in hand, quickly tucked into your bag before the reality sinks in, there were only twenty-six weeks left, and somehow you just knew how quick time would fly.

It was now time to go to work and finally find an ounce of courage to face the truth.

 

 

 

The lounge may look closed at the shy hours of 5 PM but the fact remains veiled behind the flashy ‘closed’ sign. Oswald was certainly inside, he was always around this time, invariably far earlier than anyone else and compromising in matters more often than not, and of those you yearned to have nothing to do with, but alas, your choices remained limited at this situation in time.

“Sir?” tapping his office door with a polite rap of your knuckles, you stood, awaiting, anticipating, to find the man with time to spare. The door opened and a young face greeted you; that of his adopted son Martin. The small child was deathly quiet and dressed in matching colors handsomely so. For a small second, however long it lasted you pictured what a son of Victor’s own seed would create; would he be just as cunning and clever or would the child be something entirely different, the possibilities are endless, yet the end result remained same - you were with his child and only time would tell.

The second Oswald set his eyes upon you, he paused to pull out his pocket watch to peer at the time as if his own sites were being questioned. “You’re two hours early. Is everything all right with you?”

The simple answer was ‘no’ far from it, but putting it into words seemed so much harder, almost as if you tried to express them they would get tangled up in your throat and somehow the dread of suffocating on them became much too real.

The inner workings of your mind stalled, you stood there and shook your head like a timid child awaiting punishment.

Oswald sighed, hand to his brow just below his marvelous amount of styled hair. He looks up for a moment, those brilliant green eyes striking the light perfectly. “There’s no need to be scared dear, did someone try to harm you?”

He presumably thinks someone has sought to mug you again, it’s not like that was an oddity here within the city.

“No, it’s nothing like that - I just…” You hesitated, taking a gasp into your lungs. “Needed someone to talk too. I don’t exactly have an abundance of friends.” It was the truth. Still, until now it was never an issue, solitude was a pleasant thing.

The curious thing was, you weren’t quite expecting Oswald to appear smiling once you started to open up. He stood from his chair and signaled for you accept a seat, telling Martin to leave _‘so the adults may speak,’_

Could it be so curious that he was so pleasant to talk too? That he would sit there and smile through every bit of lunacy that shuddered from your lips could be treated as if you describing a beautiful poem? There were so many things you wanted to say, to ask… would he understand your foolish self inflicted fears of your own misery, or the plain but unpleasant revelations of reality?

Would he care about the blood you shared with people that had caused him hurt? Would he understand that you were nothing like your sister nor your father, that you have no desire to conquer, but merely hold your chin above the water?

“There are some things I need to tell you, some things I need to show you and something I hope you will come to understand.” You say it almost in a whisper looking down, yet a hand reaches across the desk and takes it into his own firm grasp.

 

“You can tell me anything, _friend.”_

 

 

 

 

 

_`_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just saying... no babies will be harmed in the making of this... 
> 
> I don't even what to kill off Carmine Falcone. I CAN'T. UGH -- why did he have to die... why..... f*ck you Sofia, you ruined everything D:


	5. It would be fun, they said

 

  
If life was truly made from up and down moments, this would have been a defining ‘down’ moment. Though by now you were positively sure that in this particular time it would have been more equivalent to falling down a rabbit hole, and wondering when the hell were you going to wake up.

But life wasn’t a fairy tale, there are no wishes that magically come true, no fairy godmothers, no handsome prince charming's you could count on to sweep you off your feet; and if there was, surely Victor would have turned into something when you kissed him… or least had grown some eyebrows or _whatever. . ._

So it was merely wishful thinking that Oswald had good intentions when he laid a single hand upon your stomach, eyes looking up to you with that glare you could only hope was a good thing, that maybe he was the one thing you needed right now above else; a light at the end of a very long tunnel.

“Fourteen weeks?” He asks looking up. You had already shown your boss the scan you got earlier today. It didn’t seem real and for some reason even breaking the seal on the envelope seemed like a bad idea. Though upon seeing it, when Oswald had held the scan to the light, there it was, or rather he or she - It was an actual baby, two hands and a head; but worse, when you narrowed your eyes it almost looked like Victor, or maybe that was because he was also bald and had a giant head.

Fuck. Fuck your life.

You blinked, swallowing in your throat. “Uh, that would be correct boss,” Yes, because guess who was idiot fourteen weeks ago; if you answered, ‘Yourself’ you are right, want a prize? Too fucking bad, you should have thought about that before you considered it was such a great idea to have unprotected intercourse with a crazy man who snuck through your window.

Your boss gives you a half smile, slowly parting his hand. “The sex?”

“I was a little nervous at first, but -” you let out a cheap laugh, _“It was great.”_

 

“I meant the baby.”

 

_Oh._

_Ohhh._

 

Well hot damn, that was fucking awkward. “Right, oh well. Er, I don’t know - It’s only early, they told me they can’t say for sure till a few more weeks.”  
  
Oswald mumbled under his breath, at least for the most part you could guess he was thinking about your offer of giving him your sweet inner vessel of life. He paced by his desk, cane in one hand and a soft limp in his leg.

“The father?”

You were hoping this question wasn't going to pop up, but it was the only question you weren’t going to tell the whole truth about, opening up about your own father was worse enough.

“He doesn’t know.” You reply.

“Should I be concerned in the future?”

You sway your head, “No, It was - a one night stand.” It wasn’t exactly totally uncommon to have had a midnight tryst of all things, for you maybe not, but normal people do… Shit just happens and it’s better than saying ‘No, actually I fucked your hitman. Also F.Y.I his _Tobey Maguire_ orgasm face is super unsettling.’

Oh, and that one time you got bored and drew eyebrows on Victor while he was asleep. You thought it might be somewhat amusing, but he ended up just looking like Boy George. It was one karma chameleon your body wasn’t ready for.

 _Karma, karma, karma, karma, karma chameleon_  
_You come and go, you come and go_  
_...Then you get me knocked up and leave through the window…._ Reality is such a bitch.

“Speaking of fathers….” Oswald lifts a brow, “Carmine. I could only assume he would not be pleased with this arrangement.”

Well, that was true. “I haven’t told him yet.”

Oswald gave you a hard glance, almost making you regret telling him anything. “You are keeping this from him?”

Okay, so yeah it was probably not a great idea, but your father was kinda scary, c’mon Oswald, cut yourself some slack here! “Well, yeah… he’s you know, old fashion - I don’t think he would be impressed that - that this happened.” You let the notion sink into your head, “He just kinda strikes me as a marriage first kinda man, well at least one who would inflict that onto his daughters.”

“Be that as it may,” your boss shook his head, “You can’t keep a child from Carmine Falcone! He will find out, he knows everything - he’s always one step ahead.” Oswald almost said that with spite. “If you want me to take the child, you will tell him first - then we will discuss the finer details.”

Your heart sunk. One problem was now two problems. If you told your father how quickly would it take for him to put the pieces together? He would know it’s Victor’s, then he would tell Victor… then two issues turn into three - then four when Victor Jr. arrives.

 _FIVE PROBLEMS_ , now that you’re naming the child!

“Dear.”

His voice snaps you back into the real world, you can barely think - little alone figure out some kind of plan.

“In the meantime, I can’t have you working at the bar.”

What… he couldn’t be serious! You couldn’t believe it… “Boss, you don’t understand - I need this job, please don’t let me go.”

Oswald raised a palm, your nerves jumping to a holt, “You misunderstand, I simply meant at the bar - I can’t have a pregnant woman serving drinks.”

_And…?_

“You will remain working for me under a new position, I am in need of a reliable assistant.”

You didn’t know what shocked you more, the word reliable or the word assistant. Was this a promotion or demotion?

“Sir, I am honored but -”

His stare intensifies, “Then you will accept it and you will tell Carmine Falcone of what we have discussed before he figures it out himself. You may have fooled me, dear, though you would be kidding yourself to be lying to him.”

“I know sir, I will… I just need the right moment.”

Oswald nods, taking a seat at his desk. “Miss Falcone, a parent’s love is not something you should take for granted, once they are gone -” He paused for a moment, he almost appeared sullen and deep in thought “Well, you will never have it again.”

Yet it wasn’t his love that had you scared, it mostly the fedora hats and tommy guns awaiting a mafia styled shotgun-wedding that was probably awaiting you. Though Oswald meant well, it was something to consider, just telling him and just to hope he’ll understand and not do something rash…

“And miss…”

“Yes, boss?”

“You will do well never to withhold the truth from me again.” Oswald says, “I will know everything from now on.”

Of course, because what’s the saying? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer...

 _Great…_

 

 

 

 

`

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know that awkward moment when it seems like someone is waving to you, but actually it's someone behind you? 
> 
> That is practically the 'readers' life in this.
> 
>  
> 
> Which is sadly... relatable


	6. Silhouette

 

 

  
He knew this would happen sooner or later.

“You want me to do - what, exactly?” Penguin had slapped down a folder in the middle of the table, all but ruining his appetite for his curly fries.

The gall.

“Work, mister Zsasz.” The man snapped with his sharp over entitled attitude, “I want you to work for the money that pays for your high cholesterol!”

Shit, someone had their panties in a twist today. Though Victor could understand, he always understood. He would be a grumpy asshole too if he was a thirty-something-year-old virgin.

So he remained quiet, wiping down over his hands with a napkin before he opened the folder to see the face of his next target; only to be feeling for the first time - just a little unsettled by the doe eyes and girlish smile in a poorly taken photograph.

The assassin pinched his brows together into a frown, “Your bartender?”  
  
“The very same!” Oswald lent in, his face burning ruby red. “She’s a Falcone, but I am guessing you already knew that, am I right? When were you planning on telling me?”

Never, was the short answer, still, of course, she was never going to keep it a secret forever. Ugh, he could almost sigh. “I wasn’t sure boss, she’s not the first young girl to call Carmine Falcone ‘Daddy’.” But she was for sure the naughtiest. “I am guessing you want me to give her the old bag and drag treatment huh?” The bald man asks, his gun planted next to his plate was looking rather reachable at the moment, though forcing Oswald to deep throat his barrel right now was a preferred secondary solution to this whole predicament.

“No!” He snaps faster than expected, good. “She has given no reason for there to be any harm,” Penguin responds, folds his arms together. He likes her more than he wants to admit, he’s just not going to say it… “Just watch her and report back, twenty-four hours, Zsasz.”

Why did this feel like deja vu?

 

~

 

Even right now within the certain circumstances, it felt an oddity to be standing outside her apartment lurking in its shadow and peering up at warm amber light illuminating up her windowsill. He had followed her home from her usual rounds to her bookstore to the cafe next door. It had just started drizzling when she had left, nonetheless, she still walked in her usual pace as he took snap after a snap from a distance.

Each photograph was almost a marvel of itself; her hair, even in the rain still dangled gracefully over her shoulders and fluttered beautifully in the wind. Even with such weather against her, she still able to keep him on his toes, and most importantly, surprised.

Right now he could only assume she was getting ready for bed. Dressed in her usual pink and purple flannel pajamas, at home, she hardly dressed to impress, even worse when he wasn’t around. He could almost guess she’d either be in bed or on the sofa reading her new book, though he’d say definitely say the sofa by the light coming from the living room.

Yet he was wrong on both accounts, a sudden light beamed out from her bedroom, followed by the opening of the window. A dark shapely silhouette had caught his eyes, far too shapely to be wearing a pair of oversized pajamas… no, it was almost skin tight, if anything at all... What was she doing?

Victor leaned in closer, adjusting the lens to zoom in a little closer to get a better peek. He couldn’t believe it, she was wearing a negligee of all things. Why would she be wearing something like this, especially since he was down here with no intention to go over tonight and she was up there - alone…

And he knows for damn sure she only wears this kind of shit for attention.

Does it work? Yes, yes it does.

He snaps another picture, watching and waiting for some kind of clue as to what she’s doing. In the meantime, these photographs may have been for Oswald, but these photos were not for not for him...no, he’s better off taking these home… for research purposes...to get a closer - much closer look… _yes…_

_Yes..._

“C’mon, princess… give me a turn…” He snapped another photo, with a large boyish grin.

That one is definitely not for Oswald’s virgin eyes… to diminish his purity would be… monstrous.

The silhouette began to move, his eyes watched closely full of intrigue. It almost looked like she was picking something up. Yes, she had something in those soft little feminine fingers of hers.

The assassin raises his camera to get a better look, yet the pocket inside his coat vibrating draws him back, grabbing all his attention at once.

It was a text message.

  
[ - ]

_[1 Image Attached]_  
10: 22 PM

It’s from her… this is what she was doing? Taking naughty pictures?!

He opens the image. It was a picture of herself, one strap dangling over her shoulder, frustratingly half exposed to his eyes - there’s a caption down the bottom.

_What’s wrong, do I tickle your pickle?_  
_Stop perving me, Victor Frankenfuck!_

 

 

He had that coming. . .

 

 

 

`


	7. Uh - oh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy late Valentines day?!? <3 ő_ò

 

 

“What did you find out?”

Now that was the question of the ages. What did he find out? Well, for starters, supposedly like all women she had eyes on the back of her head.

He sighed, his expression remaining blank. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Sorry to tell you, boss, she’s just a typical young girl.” The assassin reached into his coat, setting down his collection of photo evidence from the last twenty-four hours.

Penguin picked them up, giving them a brief shuffle before making a sour face. “Ugh, why are these all _stuck_ together?!”

 _Cause she’s a saucy fucking minx._ “Hm? Oh, I _spilled_ my vanilla smoothie - it’s no biggie.” Zsasz shrugged.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

  
He claimed he had to deal with business, he wasn’t mistaken - Oswald was taking forever and you were sitting here like a chump, sipping on lemonade wishing it was vodka with a pen and notepad in your palm.

Finally, his office door opens and your boss comes striding back in. God, he looked beyond peeved. “What’s with the envelope?” You inquire about the white slip in his hand.

He gestures with a look and snarls, “It’s nothing.” Both his hands crunch it up and force the ball into the bin. Oswald than sits at his desk opens a draw and snatches out what looks like hand sanitizer and rubs his hands for a steady two minutes - bitterly. “What is it?”

“Oh, uhm - _nothing_ …”

Your boss narrowed his eyes.

 

 

  
By the time your day had concluded, you more than overjoyed that it was finally over. Hopefully now with more hours you can move out of this place and rent something a little nicer; you know something with a front door that isn’t half off its hinges, _all thanks to Jim._

Hell, you were starving. At least you had leftovers from last nigh---

Nope.

_NOPE._

You dumped your keys on your kitchen counter, never parting your eye contact from the direction your sofa.

“Hey, boo.”

Hey? HEY? “I was going to eat those fucking spaghettios!”

The bald assassin licks the spoon, letting it clunk back into the tin, “Oops.”

Oops?

_Oops?!_

  
Where you getting hormonal?

“I work all fucking day, doing something I don’t know fucking shit about and the only thing brought me comfort the whole time was knowing I had my spaghettios - and your bitch ass ate them!”

_Yup, definitely hormonal._

“if it’s any solace,” He lifts his hairless brows, “They were delicious.”

Closing your eyes, you try to remain calm - don’t break down - don’t cry - don’t surrender.

“You know.” Victor continued chatting, “If you hate your job so much, quit.”

“And do - what precisely?”

“Something… you’re good at?”

“Like?!”

You both glare at each other blankly for what seems awhile, his feet slowly slump off the coffee table. He cocks his head to the side and sucks at his bottom lip. “Well…”

_Well?_

“You’re pretty decent at giving head.”

You remain quiet.

Don’t cry.

Don’t -

_But…_

Decent? Pfft, you were mind-blowing. Fuck him and his fucking - fuck faced… face…? Yeah.

“That’s terrific.” You rolled your eyes, scoffing loudly. Could his vanity get any more reprehensible? “That’s super freaking helpful Victor. I suppose I should just become a prostitute then, oh wait - I can’t, because everyone I see will end up fucking decapitated because my boyfriend is a possessive little bitch. But don’t worry, at least on the bright side I’ll have a fucking colorful stage name to go along with my death count!”

Gosh, you needed to take a breath of air - before anything else spills out -

_Too late…_

“You know what Victor - just say goodbye to Mary Sue now, and say hello to fucking _Suzie Syphilis.”_

_He snorted._

He snickered with that half breathy, half ‘I don’t know what this emotion is,’ kind of laugh he does.

“Seriously?!”

Victor slowly wipes the bottom of his left eye after his done. “Okay, perhaps that wasn’t a constructive observation.”

_Yeah, yeah it absolutely wasn’t…_

He collects himself and takes a vast breath, “-What did you do before you became a bartender, then?”

He asked like he honestly didn’t know.

“I exchanged cash for self-delivered invaluable packages throughout the city -”

Zsasz goes quiet. “You were a drug mule?”

“Oh yeah,” Sarcasm rang high in your expression. “I also just happen to address it on my resume as well. It’s Gotham. If people know they can entrust me with high-grade cocaine, they’re more prone to trust me with their children. -” You let out a sigh. “No, I delivered fucking pizza, dipshit.”

“I think that might be the sexiest thing you’ve ever told me.”

_What?_

Did he just call you sexy - him - _a compliment?_

Oh no. The tears - hold it back girl - hold it back - don’t give in. . .

“Are you… okay?”

_No, no…_

“No, I am not fucking okay!” You throw your handbag down at your feet, stumbling forward and sinking down onto the sofa with a heavy thud. You were moody, hormonal, fatigued and craving something smothered in strawberry icing, all at once. Victor hates to be grabbed. He makes wild excuses like; ‘it will crinkle the suit.’ Still, you wrap two arms around the obnoxious, spaghetti swiping assassin.

You couldn’t help but sob into his chest, his iron pressed shirt was smooth against your wet cheeks. “Is my fellatio really that bad? Tell me honestly.”

Even though he went stiff like a strung cat that has been stroked one too many times, he nevertheless manages to pat your hair hesitantly, one after another. “Oh - it’s not - that...bad… I guess.”

You whimpered with relief, you weren’t a total screw up after all... “It’s just that I try my best, ya know - I honestly try to satisfy you. And I know that times I can be a bitch and I just swoop down upon you like Smaug at Laketown -”

“Princess, you’re babbling… again.”

_“I ain’t.”_

Zsasz groans restless, “Then what the hell does Smaug have to do with you giving fellatio?”

“We both got defeated by seamen.”

The room goes silent and Victor’s caresses on top of your head become peer pats.

 

“That was… unexpected.” 

 

 

 

`


	8. Questions left unanswered

 

 

  
Your father was known for being many things.

 

 _Influential, intelligent, powerful_ and _wealthy_ … just to mention a few.

Hence, there was no question the man would figure out your secrets eventually, you visited him once a week for his _‘father, daughter time.’_ Which was certainly more amusing when baldy boy scout was around to text under the table, but you hadn’t heard from him in the last week since Oswald had assigned him out of town on ‘business’ again; it was a routine occurrence by now.

“You were saying you were granted you a new position?” The older man asked over tea and cake. Your father always had a peculiar tendency to maintain updated in your life, perhaps it really was to make up for the little over twenty years abandonment, or so you usually assumed.

“Yeah,” you admitted grabbing another cookie _\- the baby liked the ones with the colored sprinkles._ “- He made me his personal assistant. It’s like my former job, except instead of alcohol, I now pour cups of tea.”

_Only now your ass gets pinched by hired goons you can’t afford to yell at. . ._

“And that’s where you want to be my dear, working for Penguin - What is your ultimate objective here?”

Right now? Well, not dying during labor would be an appropriate start; apparently, that’s going to suck.

“I don’t really have a goal, dad.” You sighed growing tired of his queries, “I am not Sofia. I am just trying to hold my head above the water as it is.”

To you at least, Carmine seemed to care a great deal. His eyes sparkled every time he saw you, it almost reminded you of the same way Victor gazed at freshly cooked enchiladas; in other words, you knew what your father felt about you was real. He cared for you. He loved you.

Which only made keeping things from him so much harder.

You weren’t scared by the idea he was going to be pissed off, in fact, it was the contrary. What had you spooked was the fact that in the last few years the man went completely soft. The guy had gone from knee-capping people to creating his own petting zoo overnight, no wonder Oswald wanted you to tell him the announcement before any adoption paperwork gets registered.

You were half sure papa Falcone would want a second chance at being a good dad.

Which wouldn’t be such an unpleasant idea if you knew how his other kids turned out.

Oswald had a better chance at raising your kid than you, so you weren’t about to let Falcone get another chance. If you wanted to scar the child, you’d just let Victor raise it… if he’d even stay, who’s saying he won’t leave the minute he finds out.

Considering how tight your shirts were getting lately, it was merely a matter of time.

 

“You know sweetheart if you need some help -”

Oh, terrific, here it is again. Yes papa, your daughter needs her handouts again… Look how wretched she is residing in her shitty area, renting her one-bedroom apartment with a front door that doesn’t close anymore.

“Thank you, but honestly, I am good.” He observes on as you rise, a hand grasping your coat together so no profound bumps give away anything you don’t want him to know, especially enough at the moment, it wouldn’t take much to speculate that it was more than a few sugary treats that provided you that growing curve under your shirt.

Your father gets up, he recognizes you intend on leaving. It’s growing late and there’s simply so much of this bonding you can take before it starts to feel pressed.

“Sweetheart.” The older man tries to plead with you.

“Look, dad, really, I am great. This new position is good for me. Oswald is good for me. He’s just upset with the whole ‘Falcone’ situation. And you know, it wouldn’t have been such a bad thing if it wasn’t for Sofia shit-stirring everyone.” You drew your bag over your shoulder.

Carmine dips his head in defeat, “Daughters,” he shakes his head. “When you have children of your own, dear, you will understand how complicated they can be. Your sister is the exception.”

_Well… damn._

“I’ll have one of my men drive you home, sweetheart.”

You wrapped your arms around your father to bid your farewells… in sheer silence.

... just a little looser than normal.

 

 

 

On the way home, you had gotten yourself a little too absorbed into your phone, turning it back on and going through your unread messages from your boss.

He half expected you to tell your father the news.

_It wasn’t time -_

You couldn’t.

_You were such a wimp._

Sighing, you stepped out of the car when it stopped, thanking one of your father’s drivers who ordinarily never responded before leaving, it was the usual.

_But._

This wasn’t your apartment.

You looked about, alarmed and somewhat disoriented as to where you were exactly.

Nothing looked familiar.

The sun was setting, Cars sped past on the street, verdant terraces and large fancy houses with wrought iron railing. Where the fuck did that guy think you lived?

You kept walking, scratching the back of your neck.

Seriously, where the fuck were you?

You were about to pull your phone out of your purse to request for a taxi as a car you had never seen pulled up conveniently beside you. Then the motor cuts out.

Two doors, red paint, a white stripe straight down the center.

A window rolls down.

A familiar cheeky smile had you swing on your heels and start pacing away in a huff.

How did you not see this.

How could you be so blind.

This was so…

So…

_Him._

Ugh.

At a leisurely pace, the engine starts again, and the car crawls beside you, matching your steady trot. “Leave me alone, Victor.”

“Awh, not even a happy to see me, princess?”

You carry on straight ahead, dodging him at all costs. “Nope.”

He still wouldn’t let up.

“Princess, I need you to get in the car.” His expression was far more firm this time.  
But you weren’t about to give in, or allow the man who didn’t even text or call you for a whole week any satisfaction.

You stop and turn, crossing your arms; feeling fed up with this whole game. “What part of no, don’t you understand? You can’t just decide when to pop into my life unannounced. I don’t want to play foolish games anymore...”

You already had enough on your plate.

The car came to a standstill, and the assassin stepped out, “Does it look like I am playing games?”

Well… when he puts it that way… in that serious tone...

“Unless my life is in _danger_ Victor -”

The way his eyes narrowed on the phrase ‘danger’ had you stride forward apace.

_“Seriously?”_

“I need you to take a few days off work.”

 

 

_You couldn’t believe this._

Why did this shit always have to happen to you?

Couldn’t you at least have a lucky break once in fucking awhile?

You slammed the car door in a fit of resentment, not saying anything for the first five minutes.

You finally speak up.

“Danger’ better not be an understatement, I can’t afford to take time off work.”

“It’s taken care of.” The assassin coldly replies. Even now, you don’t know whether you can trust him, but at least you know you’re secure with him. He glances at you gradually, pinching his brows together, observing for any warning; Zsasz could always see through you as if you were paper thin.

“If you’re cold, I’ll turn the heater on.”

He was undoubtedly referring to the coat you clung to so tightly.

“No, I am fine.” You snapped back.

He turned it on anyhow.

“Are you at least going to tell me where you are taking me?”

He doesn’t take his eyes off the highway. “Out of the city.”

You devoted your eyes, drawing a breath, reminding yourself not to get mad - stay calm - stay in control.

“I don’t have any spare clothes on me.”

“I am aware.” Victor replied, “I packed you a bag.”

Great. He not only went rifling through your underwear drawer, but he also picked your clothes. Great, just imagine what he arranged.

“Did you at least grab my pajamas?”

“Yes.”

“Does my father know you’re taking me out of the city?”

His hands clutched the steering wheel tighter, his leather gloves crunching together. “Nope.”

“Wow,” You scorned, marginally in disbelief as to what you were hearing, “I knew you were reckless Victor, but suicidal?”

You had to accept, this whole situation was terribly peculiar. If something was going on with your father, he would have told you before you took off, you were just there with him and it sure as hell wasn’t anything to do with Oswald.

Could it be that this was a personal matter? Yet, you highly doubted it, Zsasz was far too confidential to engage you with anything work-concerned; everything was strictly ‘hush, hush’ because of Victor.

“Don’t get me wrong. I respect your father - always have.” He continued to talk. “But that doesn’t stop your old man from being a pain in the ass. As I said before, It’s taken care of.”

“Enough respect apparently to screw his daughter behind his back.” You half mumbled back.

Victor gave you a stern look.

“It takes two to tango, princess and If I remember precisely, you condoned our ‘reckless’ behavior,” He chuckled to himself like this was one enormous joke. “-and I’ll be the first to admit, it wasn’t the smartest of ideas, but it sure was fun.”

A hint of a smile had you shake your head. Staring back out of the window, you watch as Gotham faded into the background. Still, your question remained unanswered; where was he taking you?

_Where._

 

 

 

 

 

 


	9. What

 

To him, she never ceased to be a mystery.

Even now she slept, half curled over, her head slouched over a pillow with a fistful of the bed’s soft ivory linens. How could it be that someone unconscious could also appear so utterly complacent? Zsasz sighed a little, weary, not that he’d ever admit it out loud, turning his ring upon his long index finger, seated far across the room in waiting. His mind raged on like a storm, it had been like that for the last few days; It was almost overwhelming that a man of his consistent surroundings could still feel somewhat unease.

Was that it? He questioned quietly, watching the girl mumble away in her sleep, tossing to her side lightly. Yes, it might as well be, the whole prospect of the situation was growing tiresome fast, and it had only comprised an afternoon and a night. He could have almost blamed Wendell for his large blabbering mouth if he had not known the folly of condemning another man for doing something he should have foreseen. Therefore, ultimately, it been of his own fault and everything that should happen will lay solely upon his shoulders alone.

“Victor.” He heard a gentle lull from across the room accompanying a tender murmur, “H-how did I get here. -” The hairless man grinned to himself in a way only he could understand, remembering blissful moments of tranquillity and silence one could only truly favor when everything is taken for granted. She had fallen asleep, head to the door with her arms crossed like a stubborn child after a long day. It would be unwise to wake her; the thought crossed his mind. “I carried you.”

“Again,” She groaned pulling the pillow over her face, almost seeming embarrassed. Still, he found it amusing to think she could mask her growing crimson cheeks under sheer cotton.

 _“Again,”_ He echoed.

Only, at least this time she was sober, but that’s not to say he didn’t somewhat enjoy it the first time, he had to admit even blind drunk she had a certain charm about her. Perhaps it was her confidence he found alluring if not her sheer boldness that was undoubtedly ambiguous.

The blankets tossed lightly silhouetting a beautifully curved frame, even covered, with his eyes closed, he saw past every inch of fabric that was bound past her body. He was a fool to once assume all bodies were the same, basic constructs of blood, flesh, and bone. No, because even so, that itself was stunning to the beholder, It was simplistic things that were the true vision of beauty.

“You should get dressed,” Zsasz finally suggested. “We need to leave.”

The girl groaned back into her pillow before dragging herself out of bed in a sluggish wobble, rubbing under her eyes and running her fingers through her thick head of hair. She still bore the same clothes from the day before as her toes touched the ground he watched her expression change to something he could only suggest was a glimpse of agitation.

They had shared a moment in pure silence gawking at one another, both uncertain what to say. He had to admit, even for her, she had been acting out of sort and each occasion he had thought about it, he’d pushed it away. It would be all too easy to be curious and break her personal boundaries.

The girl’s arms wrapped tightly across her stomach, tightening her eyes; slowly lifting one defined brow. In his fatigued state, he took a few moments to comprehend she was indeed mirroring his exact expression. Victor fluttered his eyes and shook his head, “Get ready.”

“Say, please.” The girl had the nerve to answer.

The bald man had winced, craning his head to the side and letting out a groan, “Pretty please with sugar on top?”

 

 

 

  
The heated water was the best sort of respite you could have ever asked for, it relieved your aching muscles and provided considerable comfort in that nagging pang in your lower back; in which had been causing you hell for the last week.

You couldn’t believe Victor had actually carried you to bed. Why didn’t he just wake you? Shaking your head, you let the water splash your face in hopes it would drown out the dreaded image, this wasn’t the first time he had done something like this and you suspected if it would be the last.

Luckily he wasn’t lying about the bag of clothes, it had made its way into the room while you were in the shower, resting against the door.

So now he was being chivalrous?

This was odd, for him at least.

Was it confusion or pure irony that you should have expected anything else, either way, you thinned your lips as your search continued through your bag, it would seem to dress for comfort wasn’t an alternative.

 

 

 

 

He found it difficult not to stare at his watch, the second hand that kept on ticking away, minute after minute till it added up to twenty-seven in total. He rolled his head back in the chair, females, he scoffed to himself. He could have cleared out a whole compound, grabbed something to eat and returned by the time she had finished brushing her hair and putting on her eye makeup.

Finally, without rush, the young woman emerged.

To his own fortune she had chosen to dress with some propriety; In his hurried state he didn’t have the luck to literally go through everything she owned, which in words would be put as ‘a lot.’

In a flash, she had spun, showing off her legs clad in stockings and a relaxed day dress in the color black amongst many vivid petals of luminous yellow sunflowers. “Do you like it?” She asked referring evidently to the dress.

Pretty as it was, It wasn’t strictly his cup of tea, he studied at once. Victor had found himself quite used to the girl usually found in ripped jeans and shirts covered in profanity. It reminded him of a simpler time, back when he himself had been younger and more… well, perhaps _Less_ rebellious. Besides, he was somewhat set on the notion she would have been the kind of girl that had him sneaking out of the home in the middle of the night, hoping not to get caught by his father… _if he would have noticed at all,_ which he wouldn’t have, Victor knew for a fact - it was a ludicrous idea, nonetheless.

But like this? His stomach twisted and it wasn’t for the absence of carbs. Dressing all graceful and looking elegant was all a little disturbing, even though they had scarcely anything in common, there was a meager part of her that reminded him of Sofia Falcone, he shunned the mental image, it was all he needed.

Yet here was another daughter of Carmine Falcone, standing before him appearing smug and smitten all at the same time. Things would have turned out so much different if she herself had been raised by the crime lord. Would she have become yet another over-privileged brat? Zsasz had first met Don Falcone’s brood ten years ago at the dapper age of twenty-five, but of course, things were much different back then, everything was different, Falcone, Maroni, the GCPD, himself…

Still, he could recall it all like it was yesterday; Don Falcone at his desk all day, Louisa causing a stir in the kitchens, Mario dismembering his sisters dolls and a young twelve-year-old Sofia that still had enough innocence to inquire if he wanted to attend her ballet recitals, he had refused without giving it a thought.

“It’s… nice, princess.” He replied without expression.

“Well, you did choose it… technically, so you’re gonna have to live with it, aren’t you? Hm.” The girl swung around and slipped on her shoes from the end of the bed. Victor did not whole-heartedly enjoy the resemblance, though he had to admit… it was perfect for the occasion, he probably shouldn’t have exaggerated that she was in danger.

 

 

 

  
  
In the car, Victor had hardly uttered a sound.

It wasn’t uncommon for him to be unusually quiet though more often than not he was the sort of guy that talked himself into trouble.

So in the meantime, you sat there in silence watching every other minute as Zsasz blew an enormous pink bubble from his chewing gum, swelling larger and larger until it burst with a large pop.

The silence disappeared while he broke his eyes from the road. “What?” He finally spoke.

“Nothing. I mean… well, where are you taking me? Surely you have to tell me sometime and it’s not like I will tell anyone or argue or.. “ your own voice had been cut off as Victor pulled the car outside a little quaint seaside villa. “Excuse me… but what the fuck is this?” What was this, a tiny two-story home with its pretty little garden and fruit trees out the front. What were you supposed to make of this, of all things?

The bald man rolled his eyes adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves.

 

“This is where I come when work dies down.”

 

_Huh?_

What was that supposed to mean, was there something he wasn’t telling you? Your mind was jumping to strange irrational, illogical conclusions. “Please to the love of god don’t tell me you’re married or unmarried and have like five fucking kids or something…I don’t want to meet your wife, she’s probably like me… crazy. I know your type pal, and frankly, I am not impressed.”

The man blinked for a second then simply smiled, shaking his head; the sick fuck was relishing this. “I am not married and I don’t have any kids, princess.” He muffled a light chuckle as he continues to chew on his piece of gum. “So jealous.”

Jealous? No, no, you weren’t. Just like he wasn’t totally childless, it was just on standby, baking in your most holy oven with his name scrawled across in either a blue or pink glaze.

“I am not. I never have and never will be… _pfft_ , keep on dreaming.” You scoffed, grabbing another eyeful of the place before you, “So this is a safe house then, or something..” Unsure, you weren’t certain what to make of this, Victor had never taken you anywhere like this before and nowhere out in public unless it was out of Gotham for the day. You didn’t even know where he lived, not that you hadn’t tried to find out by snooping through Oswald’s address books while working, to no avail.

There was only one Victor in his address book and it was the wrong one… The one that looks like Sub Zero’s weirder... Yet, better-looking cousin…

You sighed and Victor repeated. “- Or something. I need you to promise to try not to swear and be on your best behavior. I know how troublesome that is for you.”

  
“Why… exactly?”

He made a sour face.

“Do I need a reason?” Victor asserted.

“Yes… maybe…” You ticked your tongue out of harmony. “I could be a good girl... But it’ll cost you - dearly.”

You couldn’t help but snicker.

Zsasz exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Why is nothing about you ever easy?”

“Because unlike you, I am not _easy._ ”

He wavered for a brief moment, tilting his head. “Just name your price,” He replied this time more bluntly.

You tilted your chin upwards, smug.

“Okay, a kiss.”

The bald man hesitated to let his eyes roll to the side.

“Gotta say, princess, you are terrible at extortion but I am not objecting.” He lent over his seat. A hand traveling to the back your head and bare fingers combing through your hair.

He might have thought it was a simple gesture, but moments like this were relatively rare and were better than most things you could ask for.

Therefore, every second of the moment was savored. Every taste, every scent, every touch. It was amazing how even after the few, it could still like the very first when his fingertips were trailing down your cheeks to brush your lips.

Oh, how he could still make you tremble… it would be the death of you.

He lets go.

An eager hand fixes your hair over your shoulders.

Your head spins as you bite your lip still half in a stupor.

“I guess… maybe I should have asked for something a bit bigger.”

The assassin wiggles his hairless brows.

You push his shoulder.

“Not like that!”

He now pouts.

You sigh.

“I was thinking more along the lines of Disneyland.”

He doesn’t look disturbed, not even the slightest, but neither did he hesitate.

“Do they use metal detectors?”

“I bet they don’t in Paris.”

He stared at you a moment.

Then he shook his head, ruefully.

“Well played…” Victor cleared his throat, “I’ll think on it. If you behave that is…”

He gave you a quick glance as he exited the car.

You followed shortly behind him.

It was hard to take it in all at once, the sunshine, the crisp air. You let it fill your lungs as it brushed your legs against the faint breeze. Victor called your name, pulling you away. It took you a moment to realize, longer to question.

His hand was outstretched, two silver rings gleaming in the brisk afternoon sun.

Did he want to hold your hand?

You hesitated, and he looked at you like you were the odd one. “Shy are we?”

Well, now you had to take it.

His fingers threaded through your own, his grip was smooth and pale, still rough in his own particular way. He had killed people with these hands; you had to advise yourself. _Your_ own father had paid him to murder people with these hands, how many necks of people had he physically snapped? … _was it hard?_ Hm.

  
Stepping dearer to his side, he confided softly.

“If anyone asks, you’re no younger than twenty-seven.”

What…

“Victor.”

Zsasz gave you a quick glance, squeezing your hand harder till it becomes much like a bear trap.

“Such a good girl...” He said, almost precisely at the same time.

_What…_

The man pulled you along almost to a drag, till the quaint little door stood before you. Victor had knocked three times in rapid succession.

His palm was growing sweaty fast.

Footsteps were heard in the distance.

The door opens.

“Bubbe.”

“Ahuvi.” A loud gush followed.

 

 

  
**What...**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

`


	10. Bubbe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a creative break from writing this story, and yes I am fully aware how terrible it is.  
> It's kinda the point though... 😘
> 
> Welcome back 🖤

 

 

 

 

 

_“I love the tea.”_

 

_In danger he said_ , well, he didn’t say it - BUT he sure as hell went along with it. You took another sip from the cup, bouncing your foot with your leg curled over the other. He could have just said something, _anything,_ still you can't exactly get mad at the man for keeping a secret, you out of anyone could understand. It was purely the surprise that was a bit of a shock.

 

On the bright side. You were with a man who cherished his nana, that’s gotta count for something, right? RIGHT?! Therefore he tolerates the elderly, perhaps he also accepts tiny naked potatoes?

 

Anyways, to your bewilderment, his nana was nothing like you expected. If someone would have notified you he had a granny (which would have been the courteous thing, considering you had been on-and-off with the guy for a while now) you would have half presumed her to have been an ancient kung fu master or something, training him how to throw ninja stars at the age of two and smashing logs with her bare fists…

 

Nope, she was just a little old lady who liked to do old lady things. It was awfully mundane in the best way possible.

 

Even better, she would slap Victor on the back of the hand with a large wooden spoon whenever he did something mischievous like when he didn’t pull your chair out, whack. When he attempted to steal a hot cookie before it had cooled, whack. That one time he forgot to call her. **_WHACK._ **

 

You never knew you could do that. Gosh, why haven't you ever thought of that?

 

Even now besides you, Zsasz kept glancing towards your direction, his eyes glued in a locked gaze. Hopefully, he would blink a little. Maybe he expected you would say something. Still, if he had sufficient faith to bring you here in the first place, he should have at least put at least some trust in you.

 

That is unless it wasn’t his choice, that wouldn’t be hard to believe.

 

Besides, his bubba...boobie...b _a_ b _e_ y… whatever he liked to call her, it had made little sense to you since you arrived. They often spoke together in ways you couldn’t understand in the slightest, that was probably the point. 

  

From what you could fathom from their tones alone, you could tell his old lady was cranky at Victor for something, throwing words you couldn’t perceive like; ‘ _kvetsh’_ and _‘mishpocheh.’_ Yet, back to you, her voice would soften like you weren’t the one in trouble, in a consoling kind of way.

 

Thank f- _udge._

 

 

 

 

 

 

Even after dinner, Zsasz was still acting peculiar. Well, stranger than normal for a mass murdering, night stalking, kitchen raiding, sass talking, hunka _hunka_. He did odd little things, things you couldn’t quite miss even if you weren’t paying attention, like wearing giant pink rubber gloves while washing the dishes instead of simply rolling up his sleeves.

 

The plot has thickened even more.

 

It was initially possible his granny had no idea at all, I mean, it’s not like you’d openly tell your father you were using a hitman as a portable pillow pet at night either, though it would be a tad bit more amusing.

 

Unlike Victor showing his kind old nana all the scars of the people, he had brutally murdered, bludgeoned and stabbed to death...

 

That would be a little harder to explain.

 

It was getting late when you were hushed off to bed, a little room upstairs with a painted indigo door…

 

It couldn’t be no… No. NO. Yes. _YES._

 

Victor was looking at you as if you were about to pry into his diary, pages bare and the next thing you know you’re being absorbed in, finding out things like he used to have hair, has a fetish for unconscious redheads and has a past unhealthy relationship with snakes.

 

So essentially it was like that one time when you suggested his safety word should be ‘Squirtle’ At that moment you watched a thirty-five-year-old serial killer with no remorse just regret his whole existence.

 

You were only kidding…

 

“Victor.”

 

_“Bunny.”_ He tugged at you with a grumble. 

 

Too late, your mind was already spinning faster than you could take information in. It was all...so...so… fucking _adorable!_

 

And you know how much he fucking loathes being called ‘adorable’

 

_T-Minus five seconds to we cue A Nightmare Before Christmas sing-along… What’s this - What’s this… WHAT’S THIS?!_

 

_Eeeee._

 

Victor gave you his famous ‘don’t fuck with me, princess’ stare. It was hard to resist any ungodly urges, like a seeing pug puppy you were forbidden to pat. This was unbearable. It was all so cute, everything was so SMALL and left unaltered by the years.

 

His nana was a total angel.

 

Besides all the childhood knick-knacks you couldn’t move past how tidy and neat everything was, it was all so so very Victor.

 

You go to pick something up on his desk and Zsasz calls your name to stop you. 

 

He’s lucky you’re on your best behavior if that’s even a thing. 

 

He has your bag and places it on the bed, it’s small but not too small for this Goldy Locks. 

 

Victor gets into bed first, laying there like a lifeless corpse on top of the sheets, un-moving and without a sound. He looks as if he’s contemplating life and where exactly he went amiss. 

 

The hitman stays like that till you grab your pj's.

 

Then his eyes tilt towards you.

 

“What are you peeking at perv?” You give him a low mumble, watching him fold his arms across his chest.

 

He’s probably wondering where his once sensual, fun, girlfriend went.

 

You could almost feel sorry for him.

 

_Almost._

 

When you get dressed you lay beside him, it’s awkward, to say the least, you both just lay there next to each other, staring at the ceiling without a word shared.

 

If there was any occasion, you could have told him everything, this probably would have been it. You could just imagine how marvelous it would feel to come clean.

 

Only to imagine how he would react has you unable to swallow that knot in your throat. Why was this so hard? Why couldn’t things just be easy? 

 

Couldn’t your father just be happy you were remotely content with life? 

 

Even if that meant being with Victor? It wasn’t like he would murder you… would he?

 

This was a bad time to be thinking about this, he was right next to you after all... 

 

Looking at you…

 

Jesus _fucking_ christ. 

 

You turn over on your side and it sort of just mumbles out of your lips. “Are you going to kill me?” 

 

The assassin rolls over onto his side, indulging you with a twisted grin.

 

Upon his turn you couldn’t help your wondering eyes, tracing his bare pale arms placed behind his head. Long and smooth, then covered in now many braille like grooves.

 

It might have been strange that you liked to run your fingers over them, even odder for Victor, still, he never sought to stop you. “Eager to join the list are we princess?” Zsasz finally returned, still watching.

 

You pull back and grabs you closer, it’s almost eerie how easy it is for him to overpower you entirely. “There’s no denying I wouldn’t enjoy killing you, but you know what?” He whispers now, his lips caressing the nook of your neck, his warm breath tickles and he knows it. “There’s something else I’d enjoy even more.” 

 

_Oh…_

 

A part of you wants nothing more, you could just melt away in his arms. It would be so easy to let him have his way, it’s often harder to resist and give in to guilty little pleasures than fight your way out. 

 

You want it, you can’t disagree. You want him, a part of you hates yourself for caring so much, for falling so goddamn hard. A part of you is aware of how much you’ll likely regret this one day, how much it will hurt in years to come.

 

How you will lie in bed, alone, and reflect about this very moment and all that came before.

 

Your older self will curse you out, idiot, fool, you should have known better.

 

You’ve known from the start.

 

He was bad, yes.

 

But he never felt bad for you.

 

You get weepy on the notion of it all, it’s hard not to let everything fly over your head. In moments like this, you find yourself oddly fragile. Instead, you break a little. Your head planting on his chest and he seems to catch on, placing one hand to the small of your back and another to the back of your head.

 

He holds you there in silence, Victor isn’t very good with words. 

 

It’s hard to believe how much has happened in such little time, where does it all go? And where will the future take you? You can’t possibly imagine a life like this, ten years, five even… this was never supposed to be forever.

 

You know that.

 

But sometimes you wish.

 

Zsasz pats your head, his fingers combing through your hair trying to soothe your woes. “I would never hurt you princess. You know that.” 

 

Not deliberately.

 

You say nothing, listening to nothing but his heart and the strokes of his thumb upon your cheek. He hums lightly; you love it when he hums you asleep.

 

It’s funny how much you’ve come to enjoy these little comforts from such a formidable man.

 

Even if it’s in the form of an out of tune ‘Rock Lobster’ 

 

Gosh, you could hate him sometimes.

 

In a loving, doting sort of way…. 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't lie, I too wish I had a portable hitman pillow pet. . . *sighs*


End file.
